


Ease My Mind

by thepocketdragon



Series: Sing to me Instead [2]
Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Freeform, Pitch Perfect - Freeform, bechloe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:34:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27764578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepocketdragon/pseuds/thepocketdragon
Summary: Only Chloe can ease her mind. Even the pieces Beca usually hides seem to make sense when Chloe works her magic. She puts her back together. She makes it better. And maybe, just maybe, Beca wonders what it all means.Mental health themed. Set across PP1 and PP2.
Relationships: Chloe Beale & Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Series: Sing to me Instead [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021515
Comments: 12
Kudos: 55





	1. One.

Beca Mitchell never needed anybody. That was what she told herself.

The world, her world, had always been full of noise and anger and madness and darkness. That was simply the way it was. She had learned to deal with it, to move forwards despite the heavy clouds which hovered low enough to obstruct the path. Over time, she had pushed through the fog, trusting her instincts and ignoring anyone who told her to turn back or stop until the visibility was clearer.

Beca Mitchell didn’t need anybody.

Other people were critical. They didn’t understand. Other people judged her through their own lenses, against their own expectations, and decided she wasn’t good enough. Other people were the reason she was alone. Other people put themselves first and forgot about her.

Beca Mitchell had learned to survive without them.

She hadn’t realised, before, that she was only surviving. She hadn’t realised- hadn’t ever stopped long enough to process- that living and surviving were two entirely different things. She hadn’t realised that the chaos she carried around in her mind could be quietened, that the pain in her chest could be quashed.

She had always simply laid there in the dark waiting for the sun to arrive.

It had taken far too long for Beca Mitchell to realise that, in her world, the sun was a person.

* * *

**One.**

So, getting arrested was probably one of the more predictable parts of Beca’s freshman year. Getting arrested on behalf of an all-female acapella group after defending them against a group of skeezy older guys in matching letterman jackets? Not so much.

After the indignity of being driven back to her dorm from the station in her father’s car, his reproachful stare boring into the side of her head at every stoplight, all Beca had wanted was to curl up in her ridiculously uncomfortable twin bed and shut the world out for a while. As she had opened the door, Beca had realised there were nine reasons why that wouldn’t be possible, all staring right at her.

“You waited up for me?” She had asked the question, grimacing at the childlike surprise in her voice, the tone that seemed to indicate that- on some level- she was grateful that these nerds apparently cared. Slowly, her gaze had scanned across the room. Lilly was wearing one of Beca’s t-shirts, one she was certain had been stuffed at the bottom of a drawer. Amy’s hand was resting on her shelf, dangerously close to the box where Beca kept her secret stash of Reese’s peanut butter cups. Everyone seemed at home, comfortable in her space. More comfortable than Beca had ever been in that room.

Aubrey had glared at her, which didn’t make too much of a change from the status quo. Beca hated to admit it, but Aubrey’s words- all of them- had sunk into her head. At night, when everything got too much and she began to question exactly _how_ she had ended up in this particular twin bed in this particular dorm at this particular university when all she wanted was to be in California, Aubrey’s words had joined a chorus of other voices, all of them reminding her that she was small. Reminding her to know her place. Reminding her that, in the end, she was as insignificant and untalented as every other wannabe who would never make it.

Beca sees it, the judgement, the doubt, in the way Aubrey dismisses her mixing equipment and her offer to work on something for the group. She feels it in the distance, the coldness of the blonde’s half-smirk. Even once everybody begins to file out of the door, at the captain’s insistence of course, there’s a frostiness in the air. It makes Beca shake, her final reserves unravelling as the adrenaline courses through her body and the realisation that she is, once again, completely alone and angry at the world hits her with a terrifying familiarity.

Her hands wind into her hair, pulling down sharply as her knees bend and she drops to the ground. She’s beyond crying. She’s beyond thinking. Her head is filled with an unpalatable cacophony of noise- voices and memories and sirens and the clinking of bars and the deafening silence of her father’s car- and she can’t… she can’t breathe.

“Whoa.”

Chloe’s voice cuts through everything.

There’s a hand on her back, now, rubbing slow circles. There’s a whispered reminder to breathe, the gentle “in, out, in, out” somehow pulling her back towards reality. Beca blinks and lets her hands fall from her temples, sitting herself more comfortably on the floor and leaning her head against the edge of the mattress.

“Thank you.”

It may have been seconds, it may have been minutes, but Beca finds the ability to say it out loud. It’s the only thing she can think to say. It’s the only thing that makes sense.

She breathes, then. In and out just like Chloe had told her. She focuses on the way her chest expands, the way every inhale pushes her shoulders upwards. She focuses on her breath and feels everything else leave her; every thought, every voice, every other sound ebbs away. It’s just her and Chloe. Alone together.

Beca feels blue eyes searching her face. She’s still not all the way back down the mountain, her pulse is still ringing in her ears and her hands are still shaking; she feels Chloe’s gaze and knows she’s trying to understand. Beca’s mouth goes dry as she tries to speak.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this.”

It isn’t exactly true. Beca’s not sorry, not in any real sense, but she’s never let anybody see her like this before. Nobody else has ever witnessed what happens when the illusion of ‘badass Beca’ shatters. Usually, these are the parts of her she keeps well hidden. Then again, she thinks, Chloe Beale has already seen _other_ parts of her she usually hides away. This is, she begins to rationalise, just another kind of naked for the impossibly pretty redhead to add to her list. A list that, given the very small amount of knowledge Beca has of Chloe, she can only hope isn’t a physical one. Given the boundless confidence with which she had entered her shower before, given the fact that she has already spent three years unapologetically singing Ace of Base in a flight attendant suit for _fun_ , Beca wouldn’t put it past her.

“Beca, you don’t have to be sorry.” Chloe’s voice is gentle. It’s sweet. Beca knows she’s telling the truth. Beca knows, without asking, that Chloe doesn’t mind being here, that she understands that the mess Beca has created, the untidy chaos of her mind, isn’t meant to hurt anyone. It’s just who she is. It’s just how she copes. “I… I’m glad you weren’t alone.”

Chloe’s words seem to float through Beca on a different plane to everything else. They hit her hard. She lets herself smile as she replies. “Me too.”

“I… I guess it just proves my point. I know you care. You wouldn’t be upset if you didn’t.” Chloe looks at her, looks _through_ her. Beca might as well be just as naked as she was in the shower. “You just show it in your own way. I… I think that’s pretty special.” She doesn’t let Beca speak. Chloe leans back and brushes her hair back off her face. Looking up at the ceiling, she lets out a long sigh. “I’m just so annoyed with Aubrey. She could have at least said thank you.”

Beca’s eyebrow quirks. “Why? Why would she…”

“Because you got arrested for us.”

It’s such an absurd statement that Beca feels herself beginning to laugh before she knows what’s happening. Her hand finds her hair and she feels Chloe staring at her. She looks over, into impossibly bright blue pools, and shakes her head. “This entire day has been crazy. Like, actually crazy.”

Chloe shrugs. “I kind of like crazy.”

“Oh, is that why you’re still here?” It was meant to come out as a joke, but Beca’s tone is slightly accusatory and blunt. Her words fall flat. Which, today, seems to just be how things are going.

There’s a moment, a flash across Chloe’s face as she takes in her words, but she seems to cut through whatever Beca was trying to say. She takes whatever messy scraps Beca has thrown down and turns them into something. Something beautiful. Something worthwhile.

“No” Chloe’s impossibly long eyelashes seem to flutter, dancing against her skin as her eyes close and open slowly. “I’m still here because I care about you, Beca. I’m not just saying it, either. I really care.”

Beca’s not used to people being so honest. Not when they’re being nice, at least. She’s more familiar with the truth feeling like it cuts you in two.

“Well, thank you.” She pauses, glancing at her bed. She’s exhausted, mentally and physically, and she’s got a seminar on world civilisations or some other bullshit at 9am and she probably should at least turn up once before the end of the semester.

Chloe’s eyes follow hers and she smiles gently. “I’ll let you get some rest.” She pulls herself up and Beca does the same. They’re standing close, too close for Beca’s usual liking, and she steps back. She doesn’t expect Chloe to follow, but she should have done.

There are open arms and a genuine, gentle smile and blue eyes rove over her face as Chloe’s voice dances into her head once more. “You can call me any time. I’m not just a Bella. I… I’m a friend, Beca.” Beca steps into her space, lets the redhead hug her close for a brief moment, before she even realises what she’s doing.

Chloe steps back, turns elegantly on her heel and, before Beca knows what’s happening, she’s gone.

The quiet isn’t so deafening, now. The air seems clearer, somehow. It doesn’t stick to her lungs or weigh her down. Her pulse is steady and calm and she can’t hear it drumming in her ears anymore.

As sleep begins to claim her, Beca’s mind replays her day. It’s like an awful, budget, straight-to-dvd lifetime movie, but she likes the ending. In the last 24 hours, Beca’s lost a lot of things; her dignity, her cool, possibly her place with the Bellas and definitely whatever scraps of her father’s trust she had left. She’s also lost a little respect for Jesse, but she can deal with that another day.

Still, Beca can’t help but realise that she’s gained a few things, too. She’s grown a pair of metaphorical balls. She’s found a little more self-confidence because- even if Aubrey hated it- she knows that she sounded good on that stage. She may have also gained a criminal record or, at the very least, a stern warning from the county sheriff’s office, and has a new knowledge of what the inside of a jail cell actually looks like, but she knows she can deal with the consequences now. Beca Mitchell will deal with whatever comes next because, despite having one of the shittiest days on record since the infamous ‘divorce summer of 2006’, she’s also gained a friend.

As she finally drifts off to the echoes of Chloe’s voice and the image of her soft smile, the sensation of calm that seemed to be draped over her like a warm blanket, Beca thinks that, despite everything, she must have done something right to end up with someone like her in her life. Someone who can make her feel so good on such a dark day, someone who can bring back the light and make her smile and laugh and stop a panic attack in its tracks before it overwhelms her, is something Beca has never had before.

Getting arrested was one of the more predictable parts of Beca’s freshman year. Finding herself replaying the handful of images she has of the redheaded senior she’s known for less than a semester as she falls asleep with her lilting voice in her head? Not so much.


	2. Two.

**Two.**

Nothing ever seems to go the way Beca wants them to. Part of her blames the audience, who clearly were never going to appreciate what they were bringing. Part of her blames Amy because if she hadn’t flashed her vagina to the president in the first place, they wouldn’t have been in that stupid auditorium anyway and Cynthia Rose wouldn’t be currently sporting a bandage laced with aloe vera around her head. Part of her blames herself. She has to. After all, this band of idiots are her responsibility now.

It turns out, captaining an all-female acapella group has been a touch more difficult than Aubrey had made it out to be. Or, rather, Beca had thought Aubrey was being overly dramatic and pedantic the entire time and hadn’t realised just how much of a full-time job running the Bellas is until she was stood, wide-eyed and clutching the pitch pipe in her hand while the rest of the group looked at her like they were ducklings and she was their new mama. Now, she had these girls following her every step, waddling along behind as if they trust her completely.

That trust, that belief, only goes to prove that these girls- every last one of them- must be missing at least a few brain cells. Cynthia Rose, she’s pretty sure, is probably missing a few more after the afternoon’s disastrous activities. Amy can only have about six left after every knock to the head the girl has taken in her semi-professional (by her standards) jelly wrestling career. Chloe’s certainly missing the part of her brain that would allow her to be rational about the state of things and, at some point, consider what she might do with her life after college. The reckless optimism must be a symptom of something, Beca decides.

The only way Beca can understand why she’s become the leader, or at least joint leader, of this merry band of wandering, blundering, harmonising-for-fun nerds, is to believe wholeheartedly that the Bellas are all completely mad. Or stupid. Or both. She can’t understand why, under any other circumstance, they would have nodded and smiled as Aubrey named her as her successor and gave her- of all things- responsibility.

Today has proved her point completely.

She’s supposed to be a captain. That puts her at the helm. She’s trying, she really is, but steering a heavy ship, laden with other people’s expectations, is hard at the best of times. When there’s an undercurrent of senior year anxiety, crashing waves of every new task or arrangement that she needs to do before worlds, a gale-force wind with Sammy’s name on it and a storm on the horizon ominously called ‘the future’, it’s a miracle the HMS Bella is still afloat.

It’s even more of a miracle that nobody has nudged her out of the way and taken over the navigation.

Nobody would want to, Beca concludes.

Which, in hindsight, might mean that these girls aren’t as stupid as she first thought.

Still, she’s on the boat and the sea is wild and the entire vessel is rocking from side to side as she tries to balance it, tries to keep it moving forwards, inexplicably into the path of the oncoming storm. There’s a howling wind and everything shifts about. Inside her, her emotions battle with one another, a storm all of their own.

First, there had been anger. It had been immediate, a fire in her gut. She had managed to put it out, pouring out the last of her energy, dousing it in the final dregs of her rationality. But the extinguished flames had left a dark shadow, a ring of scorched earth. It drags her close, the darkness, like a black hole. It wages war in her head, pushes and pulls her from port to starboard and back again.

It’s no surprise that she feels sick.

The sensation comes over her all of a sudden. She’s standing in her room, bag still in hand and her jacket still on, when she feels the ringing in her ears and the pumping of her pulse. Heat creeps up her neck, forcing her to pull at her sleeves and rid herself of every layer save for her tank top. Breathing gets more difficult, too, her throat suddenly tight and her mouth dry.

Beca drops her jacket on her bed and runs.

It’s a miracle, in a house with this many girls, that the bathroom on the second floor is unoccupied. Beca steps in, pushing the door closed and locking it behind her. For a moment, she glances in the mirror. She’s pale, paler than usual, and there’s a sheen of sweat over her forehead that glistens in the strong light above the sink. Slowly, Beca turns and lowers herself onto the bathroom floor, leaning her back against the bath tub and letting herself appreciate the cold against her skin. She breathes deeply, hoping that the queasy feeling will subside.

Slowly, as her eyes drift over the patterns in the paint on the ceiling, Beca feels the sensation in her stomach turn from a lurch to a knot. She closes her eyes, letting the darkness win its battle and wash over her. For a moment, it’s comforting to be nothing, to be nobody, but there’s a tiny voice in Beca’s head claiming that she’s more. Claiming that she has worth.

It isn’t her voice.

It never has been.

It’s Chloe’s.

Living in this house, the Bellas’ version of a sorority house, has changed Beca in more ways than she can count. Living with nine other girls has certainly increased her tolerance for sitting through crappy movies (which is way more than Jesse has done, because- Beca likes to point out- these girls don’t narrate each and every film like they directed it themselves). She’s learned a little about compromise, about sharing. She’s also certain she now knows the lyrics to every Taylor Swift song ever written.

She’s also happier.

Which should amaze Beca in some way, but it’s not a surprise. Happiness is simply a consequence of living in a house with Chloe Beale. A thought which, even a year ago, would have terrified her. But Chloe is ever-present and ever-bright and Beca’s resigned herself to the fact that, despite the show she puts on in front of an audience and the apathy she tries to convey with dark glares and whining tones, there is something about Chloe that makes her smile. It brightens her, somehow, from the inside out.

It isn’t like the girls don’t know. They all recognise the difference in her when Chloe’s around; they all know to push Chloe forwards to deal with her if she’s beginning to teeter on the edge of a minor meltdown. They know that Chloe is the only one who of them who can manage her in that state and they respect it. They respect the magic Chloe weaves around her. After all, without it, the Bellas would never get anything done.

Beca does the same for Chloe, too, in the moments where it’s clear the older captain needs a break and some time to breathe and collect herself. The difference is, Beca’s instincts are on a delay. Chloe’s are on fast-forward: she’s instinctive. She clears a space, pushes the rabble out of the way or pulls Beca into a quiet corner before Beca even knows that’s what she needs.

With Chloe, being Beca Mitchell is easier.

When she flounders, when the tide becomes to hard to swim against and pulls her back, Chloe’s hands are already there, already pulling.

When she doesn’t have the energy to push through the surface tension, to break through the heavy pressure and fill her lungs with the air she so desperately needs, it’s Chloe pushing her upwards. It’s Chloe who senses her beginning to drop, beginning to succumb to the dark undercurrent, and it’s Chloe- always Chloe- who would be the first to dive in and save her.

When, in moments like this one, her head spins and her thoughts unravel, Chloe somehow knows how to put everything back in order. Chloe, with her strong arms and her impossibly shiny hair that always smells like a mixture of berries and warm vanilla, is the only one one who sees the pain in Beca’s head, the rush and the restlessness of troubling doubts and worries that cloud her vision. Chloe’s the only one who makes it easier.

Beca Mitchell needs Chloe; she needs Chloe in order to be herself.

She needs Chloe right now.

She needs Chloe to work her magic and make it better.

The knock on the bathroom door proves her point entirely.

Beca pulls herself up, thankfully no longer feeling queasy, and opens it to be faced with concerned eyes.

It’s enough to still the waters for a moment, to stop the ship rocking.

Chloe pushes her way in and, before she knows what is happening, Beca is firmly in her arms, breathing in the scent of woodland berry and vanilla and feeling her tense muscles relax.

Chloe’s a hugger. Beca had known that from the moment she had laid eyes on her. There was a vibe, even then, that someone so impossibly friendly would also have a very loose grasp on the concept of personal space. When she forced her way into her shower, Beca had realised quite how minuscule that grasp truly was. Still, Beca can’t deny that Chloe’s hugs- more than anyone else’s- are _nice._ She’d be disappointed if her supply of comforting embraces suddenly disappeared. In fact, she’d be a little lost.

Although, if anyone else asked, she would deny it completely.

“Where did you come from?” Beca speaks against Chloe’s shoulder, her jaw brushing against the fabric of the blue Bellas jacket that the redhead is still wearing. “It’s like you just _appeared_ out of nowhere.” She takes a short breath. “Who told you I was here?”

Chloe shrugs. “Nobody told me. I came looking for you because I knew you were… well, whatever this is,” her hand gestures up and down Beca’s body, “and the bathroom door was locked. Nobody was singing in here so I figured it must be you.” Beca takes in the softly-spoken explanation and wonders, for a moment, if Chloe has made entirely the wrong choice in wanting to become a vet. She could quite easily make it as a detective. Or a therapist. Chloe’s stern gaze pulls Beca back into the room. “Talk to me.”

Beca’s mind takes her back to the image of an unsteady ship on a churning sea, each and every one of the Bellas on board. Cynthia Rose is on fire and Emily is looking at her like she’s in possession of the Holy Grail and Amy is making demand after demand about their setlist, trying her best to guilt her into including not one but two separate Kylie Minogue numbers because she’s ‘Australia’s Sweetheart’. The picture would be funny if she wasn’t stood, alone, at the helm, trying to steer the damn thing towards land.

The image is messy. Beca knows she can’t share that. Not with time already being a precious commodity. Not without looking crazier than she feels.

“Don’t hide from me, Bec”. Chloe’s instincts cut through Beca’s web of anxiety in one slash. “Tell me.”

There’s a moment, a beat, and then Beca blinks. Looking up at Chloe, letting the intensity of the blue eyes she finds wash over her, she swipes her tongue across her lips. “Am I…” the end of the sentence falls away. Beca shakes her head, tries to put a few coherent words together. It’s an impossible task. She’s useless. She never should have tried. She… she never deserved to be here.

She’s made a complete mess of everything and now she’s terrified of the consequences.

“I think you should be captain by yourself.”

Her words land and Chloe’s mouth gapes open.

“No.”

It’s a reply laced with shock.

Beca shrugs.

Chloe still hasn’t shut her mouth.

Restless fingers find the ends of her hair and Beca twists as she explains. “I’m ruining this. Aubrey will hate me forever. She’ll say that I… I’m a disgrace. Because I am.”

Part of Beca still can’t believe she cares what Aubrey Posen thinks. Being friends with her has been an adventure all of its own and has been made easier by distance and time. As captains, on equal footing, there seemed to have been a plateau in their battle and they had put down their weapons and surrendered. Of course they had. Chloe had been there, watching, the whole time.

“Aubrey thinks you’re amazing. We all do.” Chloe pulls Beca down with her as she settles on the floor, back against the bath tub and legs stretched out in front of her. She leans in close, resting her head on Beca’s shoulder. “You… you can’t blame yourself for everything that happened today. We’re a team and, well, we didn’t act like one.” Chloe turns to her, then, and flashes her a gentle smile. “I’m sorry if we made you feel like you were alone.”

Beca shakes her head. Nothing about how she feels, how she acted, warrants an apology.

Well, expect for possibly from Amy because, frankly, the volume of apology needed after you flash your nether regions to the leader of the free world is incalculable.

“I think the thing is that we all have so much faith in you, Becs. We’ve seen what you can do and we believe in it. We believe in you. So, sometimes, we rely on that to get us through. When we’re lost, your mixes are our flashlight. You light the way.”

Beca grimaces. “Please don’t start talking about flashlights again. Jessica’s been singing Emily’s stupid song every morning for weeks.”

There’s a softness to the way Chloe looks at her, a lightness to her smile. She reaches out and presses her fingers against Beca’s, waiting for the shorter girl to turn her hand over and lace them together. When she finally does, Chloe looks into her eyes. “I believe in you.”

Everything else seems to fall away. Beca hears Chloe’s words, loud and clear, and nothing else matters for a moment. She sees the ship, again, sees the chaos around them. She reaches for the wheel, stares out onto the horizon and she feels it. Beside her, a calming presence.

Chloe.

With a map and a compass.

Chloe who has been there the whole time.

“You’re special to me, Beca. I don’t know if I’ve ever really said it to you properly, but you are. And… and if you ever feel like any of us are putting pressure on you to be more brilliant than you think you can be, you tell me. You tell me and I’ll be there.” Chloe squeezes her hand. “I’ll always be there.”

The magical thing about Chloe is the way she seems to quiet the chaos and make everything make sense. She’s strangely calm, sometimes, for somebody with such a high level of energy. She’s the glue that holds the entire ship together, the force that keeps them moving forwards.

On some level, Beca knows she’s always been doing this for Chloe. Every decision, every step forward, has been made with her in mind.

She turns to her and squeezes her hand.

“You’re special to me, too, Chlo.”


	3. Three.

**Three.**

Beca’s always, well, since the great divorce summer of 2006, been used to living with the empty feeling in her chest. It’s been there to greet her every morning, a subtle reminder of the fact that a part of her heart was broken the day everything fell apart. It’s almost a phantom pain now, like she knows it shouldn’t still hurt, but there’s an ache exactly where she imagines the missing piece should be. There’s an ever-present urge to fix it. A longing to fill it with something new and bright, to patch it up and make it better.

The longing has a name.

Its name is Chloe Beale.

She has always held the right words, explained in the language they share, to make sense of it all. She’s always been able to paint over the dark patches with brightness and bring a little light into Beca’s world.

Without Chloe, the darkness only seems to grow.

Without Chloe, not much at all makes sense to Beca.

Without Chloe, the pain feels real again.

Although, she did just take a mighty fall out of a bear trap which may be contributing in some way to the discomfort across her entire body.

Since life took a turn and gave her the Barden Bellas, Beca has been alone less than she would like. Less than she had been used to. There always seems to be somebody around, even on the latest of nights or the earliest of mornings, to offer company. To offer a coffee or a smile or an unsolicited duet partner.

The way she has become accustomed to there always being somebody there makes the loneliness even more acute. It turns up the volume on the guilt, too, because- despite every instinct in her bones telling her she would leave this band of weirdos after a year and move on with her life- she truly cares about each and every one of them. Not only as a captain, but as a friend.

She counts each and every one of them as a friend and yet she had lied. Well, hidden the truth. Now probably isn’t the time for technicalities. It’s too late to try and define it, anyway. It’s too late for a lot of things. That’s why she’s alone, walking cautiously around the pathways of Aubrey’s stupid retreat with her headphones on and no music playing. She’s alone because, like everyone always expected, she’s ruined the good thing with an idiotic decision and a half-lie.

It’s not like she hadn’t had enough warnings. She could have listened to Jesse. She could have listened to Amy. She could have listened to herself.

She didn’t.

She didn’t and now it’s over.

The sensation in her chest has grown exponentially with every step she’s taken along the trail through the woods. It’s sad and heavy and overwhelming. It’s also lonely.

Beca stops. She closes her eyes and tries to stop the tears from coming. They won’t help. Not now. Not yet. There’s a restlessness behind her eyes, a panicked surge that threatens to crash over her. It’s a wave of fear, she realises as she feels her pulse race. Fear that she’s ruined the best thing in her life. Fear that the future she had imagined sharing with Chloe is rapidly fading. Fear, buried deep in her damaged soul, that the real reason she hid the truth from Chloe has a lot more to do with love than she can admit out loud.

Chloe is waiting for her as she circles back towards where the Bellas Bus is parked. Despite everything, the frustration and the fear and the ever-growing anxiety that she’s about to be forced to say the things she’s buried deep down ever since that night in the empty pool when blue eyes met blue eyes and her heart skipped a beat, Beca doesn’t feel the urge to run. Despite everything, she’s drawn to Chloe in a way she can’t explain.

Part of her wonders whether there’s an invisible boundary somewhere in her world; a predetermined distance at which the bungee cord snags and she’s pulled back in. Back towards the smiling redhead and the life they’ve built. Back to the place she belongs.

Beca can no longer deny how much she needs Chloe in her life.

If she didn’t, none of this would hurt as much as it does.

She’s also finding it hard to deny how much she _wants_ to be close to Chloe. How much she _wants_ to be pulled back in. How much her heart pounds when she sees that beautiful, ethereal smile and feels the edges of her own lips tilt upwards in response.

It’s as Beca takes one more step towards where Chloe is waiting that she realises her mind is entirely full of _her._ She wonders how long it has been and why she didn’t notice. She wonders until Chloe looks at her, her wide, blue eyes somehow brighter against the rapidly disappearing late afternoon sun. Then, as she takes a final calming breath and walks into the fray, everything else disappears. Everything else is quiet.

“You’re an idiot.”

It isn’t the opening line Beca had been expecting, but she knows she deserves it nonetheless.

“You should have just talked to me.”

Beca closes her eyes slowly as Chloe’s words sink in. She lets the tone, the slight wobble that gives away her hurt, the determination underneath it all, wash over her. When she opens her eyes, Chloe is staring.

“We’ve always talked about everything. That… that’s what I don’t understand.” She licks her lips, Beca’s gaze firmly on the swift movement. “That’s the part that hurts the most.”

Beca hates that it takes her until that moment to fully comprehend that she’s not the only one who is hurting. That, despite being the one to fall from the tree, she’s not the only one in pain. Chloe isn’t made of iron, she’s human too and she’s fallible and breakable and Beca finally sees the cracks she’s created with her actions and her words.

The fissure in her heart widens slightly and the pain becomes even more real.

“I was scared” she admits in a whisper. “I’m still scared.”

Chloe’s gaze softens and she nods her head in understanding. “I know, Bec.” She reaches out and grasps at her hand, taking it in her own and tangling their fingers together. “I am, too. But we can be scared together.”

There’s something about the way Chloe speaks that makes Beca feel warm. The sting in her heart seems to reduce back down to a simmering ache and, for a moment, her chest is loose enough that she can take a deep, fresh lungful of air.

“I’m sorry.” The words come out more confidently, now. “I wasn’t thinking, which I know isn’t an excuse. I just… I never meant to hurt you. None of this was ever meant to hurt you.” She pauses, just for a moment, and replays over their explosive argument. A sigh escapes her lips before the rest of her apology. “I’m sorry I told you to sack up. I… I know this has all been really hard for you. I know I haven’t made it any easier.”

“No.” Chloe’s admission smarts a little, even though Beca knows it’s coming. “Although I am a little relieved now that I know what was actually going on. I… I knew there was something.” The pause Chloe holds seems to last far too long in Beca’s head. “I think part of me didn’t confront you before now because I was worried it was something I’d done.”

The usual stop-and-think process doesn’t happen where Chloe is concerned. Nor does Beca’s usual desire to eschew any kind of display of overt affection. Before she knows what is happening, Beca has stepped forwards and pulled the redhead into her arms. It’s a tight hug, her nose pressed against her hair, and Beca feels Chloe respond, her arms crushing her with just as much intensity. Beca’s hand rubs up and down Chloe’s back, lightly brushing over the workout gear she’s still wearing, as she sighs at the sensation of- finally- the pieces slotting back into place. She wonders whether Chloe feels the same. Whether, without her knowing, Beca can make her feel just as complete. Just as whole.

She thinks over Chloe’s words, Chloe’s worries, and pulls back to look at her, eyes roving over a worried expression. She smiles. “It’s never you, Chloe. Don’t worry about that. When… when I feel like this, it’s never you.”

Beca leans back in to hold her again and screws her eyes closed. It’s not a lie, but there’s another side to the truth.

The side in which it’s _always_ Chloe.

“You’re my best friend, Bec. I never want that to change.”

For once, Beca wishes Chloe’s words weren’t the only ones in her head.

It hits Beca with full force once the tent finally falls silent.

The campfire is out and there’s an air of calm that hasn’t been present for a long time. There are new memories of melodies woven in the night air and laughter and joy at finally- _finally-_ rediscovering who they are.

And there’s a change.

A change in Beca.

A change in what she sees, what she feels, when she looks at Chloe.

Or, rather, a change how close that feeling is to the surface, now.

She can almost name it.

Almost.

Every singe one of the girls sleeping around her is special. Important.

Every single one of them has made Beca’s life better. Brighter.

None of them have lit a spark in her like Chloe.

None of them make her feel as if there’s a firework low in her gut, prime to explode into a thousand, colourful pieces.

Chloe Beale does.

Chloe Beale, in all of her chaotic, energetic, recklessly optimistic glory, does something to Beca she has never felt before.

She knows it has a name.

She can feel it pressing. Pressing teasingly, temptingly close to her lips.

Beca Mitchell has spent many restless nights, sleepless nights, waiting for the sun to come up. She has laid, eyes painfully wide open and mind racing, through hours of dark misery. She has dreamed, prayed, hoped to any deity she can think of for a remedy to the pain in her chest and the sensation of dread threatening to pull her down into a seemingly inescapable pit of melancholy.

Glancing to her side, Beca’s eyes dance over Chloe’s sleeping form.

In rest, she smiles. Even in the middle of the night, she is light. She is brightness. She is the sun Beca has always been waiting for.

The sun around which she has always, unknowingly, revolved.

It’s the final piece of the puzzle, Beca realises. Chloe _fits_ in the gaps left in her heart, in her soul. Chloe fits and she’s complete.

Whole.

With Chloe right there, where she belongs, the picture is clear and everything makes sense.

“Stop staring.”

Chloe’s half-asleep, mumbled words come out of one corner of her mouth as she opens her eyes slightly.

“Come on. Come sleep here.”

She licks her lips, still probably half in dreamland, and slowly pats the empty space next to her. It’s only a few inches of pillow, but Beca takes it. Shuffling in close, she feels Chloe sigh as she drapes a heavy arm around her and anchors her down.

The ship stops.

The sea is calm.

Everything can wait until morning.

Until the sun rises.

“Stop thinking so much. Just enjoy being together. ’s nice to be together like this.”

Beca can’t see Chloe, but she imagines her eyes are still shut, that she’s still basically asleep.

It shouldn’t surprise her, not really, not anymore, that- even semi-conscious- Chloe knows exactly what she needs to hear.

“It’s nice to be together like this.”

Beca lets the words sink into her skin as she finally closes her eyes.

There’s something, Beca knows, about the way Chloe makes it easier. There’s something about the way she understands. It’s instinctive and light and sometimes completely unexpected.

Her voice, echoing in her head, is her guidance. Her smile is her beacon.

She’s never been sailing towards anything else but her destination.

She’s never truly thought about it before, but Beca knows- without a doubt- that the future on the horizon is one they are going to share. Anyone who looks at them can see that Chloe loves her. Beca has known that for a long time. She sees it in the way she smiles, feels it in the way she reaches out for her. She knows from the way she’s _there_ , before anyone else, and the way she understands.

Beca wonders how obvious it is that she loves Chloe, too. That her admiration, her need, her want, her longing, all boil down to the same, powerful thing. She wonders if Chloe knows, too. If Chloe senses just how important she is, just how much Beca’s heart sings for her. If she knows that, despite being a little scared about what it all means, knowing it’s _Chloe_ she’s falling in love with somehow makes it all a little easier.

She wonders until the arm around her body pulls her in closer and lips faintly press against her shoulder.

Then, she knows.

Beca’s always been used to living with the empty feeling in her chest, the ache serving as a reminder of what she’s been missing.

As she drifts off to sleep, she’s struck by its absence.

In its place, there’s a weighty arm holding her steady and a sensation- even miles away from Barden- that she’s somehow _home._

Home has a name.

Its name is Chloe Beale.


End file.
